


After they're gone

by fandomrain17



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Short One Shot, please no judgement, this is my first phantom fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 12:24:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15461307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomrain17/pseuds/fandomrain17
Summary: One shot of the lair after Christine and Raoul leave after final lair.





	After they're gone

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know.

The ivory mask lay at the organ, scattered with tattered sheets of staffs, dotted with inky notes and lyrics to beautiful songs that would never be sung in the light of day. The keys of the organ were yellowed, some broken, and the golden pipes were covered in layers of dust.

Candles were placed throughout the area, all lit, with soft melting wax dribbling from sparkling flames onto the shining brass handles. The grimy stone walls surrounded the cave, and the sewage water gleamed down the stairs, a brilliant green pool, about two feet deep. The gate to the cave stood tall, a rusty barrier in crosses.

The gondola was standing in the water, still, to a point of disbelief. The wood curled in the front in a shining spiral. The bottom was rosy carpet, undoubtedly very soft, as He wouldn't want her uncomfortable. The paddle was steadying the boat. The whole lair had a classy air, for a cave anyway. The place was quiet now, the beautiful mannequin hidden in the corner untouched, everything in powdery dust.

The mirrors had been smashed in, and now, along with the dust, a level of solitude and solemnity had settled over the sewer, giving it the look of a real villain's lair.  
The place of residence for the tortured genius, the composer, the brilliant vocalist, the opera writer, the cold blooded killer, the deformed child, the opera ghost.

The O.G. was curled up in bed, tears still rolling down his face. They dropped down his smashed nose, along with his waxy skin and one silver eye were wet with sadness. He had lost her, but he had told her what she needed to hear. As he dried his tears in his silky rose sheets, he realized with a heavy sigh that this story had finally drawn to a close. It was over now, the music of the night.


End file.
